


Tungsinnbarn

by Dovahgriin (orphan_account)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falkreath, Gen, Hagravens, Memory Loss, Orphan Rock, POV First Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-08 15:52:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15246693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dovahgriin
Summary: The world is confusing as it is. Adding magic just makes it even moreso.





	Tungsinnbarn

**Author's Note:**

> Skyrim/Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. I'm just playing in their sandbox.

_Dark, dark, it is all dark. Eyes in the inky unknown, watching, watching, waiting for a mistake, for a blunder in a dreamscape gone dark._

_Can a person trick the Prince of Secrets?_

_Can a mere mortal hide that which cannot be hidden?_

* * *

I wake with a gasp.

I have no memory of this place -- a forest teeming with life, the scent of rain on the wind, clouds fat with rain drifting lazily across the heavens. I do not remember my name. I do not remember traveling here, although my clothing suggests I have been for quite some time (threadbare cotton shift, patches upon patches, dusty burlap wrapped as a hooded cloak, soft leather boots with chipped yellow buttons up the sides).

I am alone.

My fingers dig into the soft ground underneath me. Pine needles prick my fingertips, drawing a soft sound from my lips. I do not move to stand, not immediately. There is something in the air, something in the very fabric of what is real, that sets my teeth on edge and sends my hair standing up.

I comb through my mind for a word that could encompass this _unnerving_ feeling, brushing away cobwebs like a housewife on cleaning day. Only one stands out.

_Magic._

At the thought, everything comes into crystalline focus, and I _feel_ the heartbeat of the world in my very bones. Sap flows through the trees around me, moving so slowly that it almost slips beneath my awareness. A hawk circles above the treeline, eyes tracking the movement of a field mouse on the forest floor. A wooded woman strides across a glade, her movements imitating the sound of a breeze moving through the branches of an oak tree, humming insects hovering around her as she bends over patches of delicate mountain flowers of varying hues.

Air cannot enter my lungs quickly enough, and I choke on it. It is thus that I scramble to my feet and stumble to the creek trickling nearby.

 _Drink only running water; do not ingest still water._ The information is at the forefront of my mind as I kneel and plunge my hands into the stream. The water is so cold that it burns my skin. As I drink, it feels as though my teeth go numb. The wind picks up, and the sky darkens. The forest is unnaturally silent. I shiver, gooseflesh rising on my bare forearms in anticipatory trepidation.

_Something is coming._

Something _does_ come. A great black shape, with wings the span of one hundred paces across and eyes the color of rubies glinting in the late afternoon sunlight. I avert my eyes and flatten myself against the pebbles of the shore, a primal fear overtaking any rational thought that I may have. The creature circles once, twice, and then soars off into the mountains, a roar echoing in the air.

When it is gone, the sounds return, but my heart does not stop beating against my ribs. It is as though something has awoken within my very soul, and yearns to be _out._ I gasp aloud and physically press down on my ribs, forcing whatever it is _back inside._ A flock of geese flies above the forest, honking.

I focus on that, and the _feeling_ subsides. For now, I need shelter. I need protection. I need allies. Forcing myself to my feet, I begin to walk towards the mountains and the setting sun. Where there are mountains, there might be caves, after all.

* * *

The sun finally disappears behind the mountain, and dusk falls on the forest. All around, new creatures emerge; foxes the color of autumn leaves, fireflies — _torchbugs —_ hovering in the air like little stars I can touch. A luminescent moth flutters by my cheek. A cool — not cold, but not warm, either — blows my hair back from my face as I pass between two fir trees.

The evening is calm, and then it is not.

A ball of fire stinking of brimstone flies by my head, singeing my hair. I scream and drop to the ground.

 _Stop, drop and roll._ I do just that, pressing my head to the earth to stifle any chance of embers on my skin. The fireball hits the mountainside with a _bang_ and then dissipates into nothing.

 _"_ _Som gar der?"_ A voice rings out in the gloom, and I raise a hand in response.

"Please do not kill me!" 

Footsteps near where I lay, and then a woman is taking up my vision. She is neither old, nor young, from what I can tell. There are fine lines around her eyes and mouth, as though she smiles often. Her robes —  _robes —_  are black as pitch. Fire glows in her hands.

 _"H_ _vem er du?"_ I blink up at her, uncomprehending. Horror dawns on me as I realize that I cannot understand her.

"I do not understand you," I say slowly. The woman shakes her head. She does not understand me, either. I hold up my hands; I have no weapon. "I will not harm you. Please do not kill me."

The woman narrows her eyes and then motions for me to get up. I must not move fast enough for her, because she grabs my wrist in her hand and hauls me to my feet with a strength that I do not expect.

 _"_ _Kom med meg."_

* * *

The woman brings me further into the tiny valley, where a half-tent is set up and a fire burns cheerily in a pit. I see two other women, one older and one younger, leaning over a smoking workbench. We pass by them, and the younger looks over at us. Her silvery eyes are narrow at first, then widen almost comically.

I wave at her. She turns away.

The first woman leads me across a log and into a separate campsite where a haggard... creature... wheezes over a glowing table, black-purple gems scattered over its surface. It turns to face us, and I stifle a whimper. Never before have I seen such ugliness. With lank, greasy hair and nails that curve into wicked-looking claws, the _thing_ nods once in our general direction. My escort interprets this as a dismissal, and leaves me alone with the creature.

 _"_ _Du er en Sithis snakket til meg, mitt barn."_ I shudder at the gravelly voice that leaves it.

"I do not know your language," I reply. The creature laughs, a terrible, haunting sound.

 _"_ _Vel, vi kan ikke ha som,"_ the creature — a female, I see from the drooping breasts — calls to the women clustered around the other workbench. _"_ _Gi meg den blanding av tale!"_

The oldest of the three hurries over, a corked glass bottle in her hands. The creature gestures at me, and the woman offers the bottle (and viscous liquid within) to me. I must make a face as I shake my head, because the creature laughs again, genuinely amused.

 _"_ _Drikke det, barn."_ Her voice brooks no argument. I take the bottle and remove the stopper. My hands are shaking. It smells like old leather and lemons. As I swallow the liquid, it occurs to me with sudden clarity that I could be drinking my death, but by now it is far too late for regrets. The potion leaves a foul taste in my mouth.

“There. Is that not much better, child?” The creature-woman smiles at me. I choke, not expecting a language that I could understand.

“I—“ _cough_ “—beg your pardon?” It takes me a minute to regain my composure.

“It is good to understand those around you, yes?”

“I… suppose so. What — _who_ — are you?”

“I am Iaefa of Orphan Rock. I am a matriarch of the Forsworn, the eldest of the guiding mothers.” I bow my head, unable to think of anything else to do.

“What was that potion you gave me?”

“It was only a key to revealing knowledge already within you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So I already knew the language, subconsciously?”

“Just so.” The matriarch inclines her head.

“Ah.”

The matriarch circles me, clucking her tongue at my clothing. I stand still, heart pounding.

"You will need new clothes, and training." At my questioning look, she grins, baring sharp teeth.

"Training? For what?"

"For what is planned for you, of course. The Dread Father whispered it into my ear many years ago, and I have waited for your arrival."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where I was going with this, honestly.


End file.
